


Gifts of Life and Death

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Mycroft, But still pretty fluffy in places, Creeper Jim, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Holmes Family Feels, Not a sappy baby fic, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock gets a kick in his maturity pants, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night after Reichenbach, Molly and Sherlock take comfort in each other. Five months later he reappears, but it's Molly with the biggest surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts of Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> Not my usual thing but it just poured out of me today, so I'm posting as-is.

It was stupid, really. When Molly got back to her apartment, dropping her keys on the counter in her sad, tired way, Sherlock had already cut his hair. The normally wild dark locks were now a cropped blonde that only made him more beautiful, and she clapped a hand to her mouth and sobbed.

“Molly, Molly it’s alright. It will be alright.” He wound her in his arms stiffly, as if he’d never really hugged anyone before.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop-”

“No, it’s okay.”

They stood in the middle of the kitchen like that for a long time. She was too afraid to move, afraid that if she let go he’d leave and she’d never see him again.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll be careful, yeah?” she looked up at him, blinking back tears.

In the thousands of times she thought about it afterwards, she could never decide what was different in that moment. She was still plain old Molly and he was still unemotional Sherlock, but for some strange second they had each other. They weren’t alone. He leaned down and kissed her and she clung to him like a life raft, reassuring herself he wasn’t really dead.

She never asked if he was a virgin, but he seemed confident enough, and when it was finished he kissed her palm and stood.

“Good luck then.” She joked, clutching the blankets to her chest as if they were him, as if she could keep him close.

He shrugged on his shirt with a thoughtful nod, grabbed his new jacket. It looked wrong on him.

“Thank you, Molly. For everything.”

The door closed behind him before she says it back.

*****

The first thing she did when she heard John’s voice was flinch, as if he could see her through the phone.

“Molly? Molly it’s fantastic – but then you knew all along, didn’t you?”

“John?”

“He’s back, Molly. Moriarty’s last men have been arrested and he’s found a way to clear his name and he’s back!”

“Oh. You mean Sherlock.”

“Well of course I mean Sherlock! We’re having dinner to celebrate, Mycroft’s treat. He’s booked out a whole restaurant, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson are coming – you should be there.”

Molly looked down, like that will make a difference. “Um, yeah, sure. When is it?”

“Friday.”

“That’s soon!” she blurted.

“Yeah, suppose. Anyway, I’ll send you the details, okay? I know Sherlock will want you to be there.”

“Maybe.” She mutters.

“What?”

“I said great.”

She hangs up the phone like it weighs a hundred pounds, arm so heavy she can barely feel it. _Come on Moll, you knew this would happen eventually._ She glanced at the calendar. _Friday. Three days_. She couldn’t wait that long.

 

Mrs Hudson opened the door when she knocked, immediately cooing and trying to hug her awkwardly.

“It’s been ages since we’ve seen you, dear!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Is Sherlock in?”

“Yes, yes, he’s upstairs with John. Want me to show you up?”

“No it’s okay.”

“I can send up some tea, I know they won’t think of it-”

“It’s fine, really. I’ll come and see you before I leave.”

“Alright then.”

She bustled back to her flat and left Molly staring up at the steps. The dark at the top seemed so ominous. _You have to do this. You can’t leave now_. Steeling herself she took one step, and then another, and since the dread feeling never lessened she took the rest as quick as she could.

Her words failed her at the top, and instead of announcing herself properly she just walked into the living room. John was in his armchair watching Sherlock wondrously, as if still in shock. The detective himself was retuning his violin. His hair was back to normal and he was in his old dressing gown with the sash hanging loose, and Molly almost burst into tears at how normal he looked, like nothing had changed.

“Hello.”

They both looked up, surprised. John smiled wide – seemingly nothing could ruin his good mood for long – but Sherlock looked almost wary.

“Molly! It’s great to see you.”

“Hello Molly.”

“Hello Sherlock. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yes. It took a bit longer than I’d anticipated.”

“Four months longer,” John rolled his eyes, standing, “Please, sit down.”

“Thanks. I will, just – in a second. Sherlock, I came because I have to tell you something before the big party with everyone.”

John looked between the two of them uncertainly. “Should I give you a minute?”

“No. I think it will be better if you’re here, just...don’t ask too many questions, alright?”

He looked increasingly worried but stayed in his seat. Sherlock frowned, puzzled. Molly took a huge breath, letting it out shakily.

“Alright. Here we go.”

 

Slowly, clumsily she unbuttoned her coat. Molly untucked her scarf and placed it on the desk before opening the jacket and doing the same. John gasped, mouth ajar at the rounded swell of her belly. Sherlock looked like for the first time he was having trouble processing what was in front of his face.

“Congratulations!” John whooped, before seeing the baleful look she shot him and remembering he was supposed to be quiet.

Sherlock’s gaze flicked over her rapidly, taking in the shape of her face and stomach, the swelling in her hands.

“You’re about five and a half months.”

“Five months, twenty-two days to be exact.” She replied.

“So-”

“Yes.”

Sherlock seemed beyond shock or concern, completely frozen in his chair. John looked between the two of them, confused.

“Five and a half months? That would have been about the time of the fall...” he trailed off, “Oh god, Molly. It’s not...Moriarty’s?”

“It’s Sherlock’s.”

“What?” he clipped off, hands clutching the arms of his chair.

“There was no one else. It’s Sherlock’s.” She repeated, the weight of it starting to tire her as she stood there with two men staring at her stomach like she was harbouring an alien. Which in a way, she sort of was.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

“There was...once. Right before I disappeared.”

Molly looked at him sadly as she remembered, one hand drifting down to rest on her bump unthinkingly. The movement seemed to stir him to action though.

“Right. Well, we’ll have to talk about arrangements. I’m sure Mycroft will see you’re well provided for, he might even sign you on to part of my trust. I can get you in to the best doctors, the best midwives-”

“Sherlock, Sherlock stop. I didn’t come here to make it your problem. I just thought you should know, before I showed up at the party looking like this. I decided to keep the baby – that was my choice. I’m not going to force it on you. I’ll even lie about the father if you want.”

Sherlock looked up at her, baffled by the endless supply of love and understanding Molly had for him. There was no way he deserved it after everything he’d done to her.

“You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got my mum, some friends from the hospital.”

“And me, you can definitely count me in.” John added.

“It was just, when I found out I realised this might be my only chance, and I decided to take it. I don’t want that to burden you.”

“What about the child? They’ll have questions, they’ll think I abandoned them.”

“No. I’ll tell her the truth, that this was my choice.”

“Her?” Sherlock whispered, eyes locked on her stomach again.

John gave a little half-laugh. “It’s a girl then.”

“They’re pretty sure.” Molly nodded.

Sherlock stood, crossing carefully until he could reach out and touch her. He hesitated, hand still above her stomach.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

He laid the palm gently against her, those long fingers cupping the bulge under her shirt. Molly was long used to the slight wriggling and kicks inside her, but she recognised the amazement on Sherlock’s face as he felt them.

“She kicked me.”

“She’s an active little blighter. I’m a bit worried she’d going to be a total mini-you and I’ll have no end of mischief.”

 

His hand moves, following the motion inside as he meets her gaze. There’s something there, a depth she’s never seen before.

“Molly, I know this is...unexpected. I’m sure I will need time to properly process it. A child is not something I ever really looked to have.”

“I told you Sherlock, you don’t need to do anything. I just thought you should know.”

“But Molly...what if this is my one chance too?”

She was taken aback, and by the looks of it John was too. Sherlock seemed newly fired up though, peering at her excitedly.

“I mean, it is much more likely that you could marry and have other children but this, this baby is almost certainly the only one I will ever have.”

“You don’t know that.” She said gently.

He gave her a self-deprecating look. “Don’t soften it, Molly. I am not exactly the most marriageable man in the world. I’m alright with that. But this...I wasn’t looking for it, and now I know she exists...I want to be there.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“It’s not going to be easy, Sherlock. A child needs attention, tenderness. Are you sure you can deliver?”

Sherlock looked back at John, as if needed to be reassured he was capable of feeling. The doctor stood and came over.

“I know he can do it, and if he forgets I’ll remind him.”

“I’m having a baby.” Sherlock mumbled, hushed and awed.

“We are.” Molly nodded, tears silently escaping her.

“You’re having a baby, Sherlock!” John cheered enthusiastically, patting his back.

“There’s so much we need to talk about. John, put the kettle on. I cannot wait to see Mycroft’s face.”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the pregnancy so far: what Molly’s morning sickness had been like (terrible), how her check-ups had gone (well) and what she was doing now she couldn’t work around the morgue chemicals (mostly reading pregnancy books and eating chocolate). When it got dark and she was tired Sherlock refused to let her leave, giving up his bed in favour of the couch so she could be more comfortable. The next day when she wakes up in one of his old pyjama tops, he’s on his laptop with a dozen different pregnancy websites open and surrounded by a pile of open medical atlases and encyclopaedias, as well as what looked like _What to Expect When You’re Expecting,_ which she can only assume he got from Mrs Hudson or someone.

“Morning.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“And the baby?”

“She’s good too.”

“Sit down, I’ll make breakfast,” he stopped, probably remembering the state of his cupboards, “Er, I mean I’ll order breakfast.”

“It’s fine, I should go home and change.”

“But there’s still so much to talk about.” He almost pleaded, looking very childlike.

Molly sighed. _Great. What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

*****

On Friday Mycroft sends a car to take them to the restaurant, as if he thinks his brother might not show to his own party. It’s a low-key but very beautiful place, sort of tucked away and exclusive so there are no press outside to bother them. Mycroft and Mrs Hudson are already inside with Lestrade and some of the other Yarders, the odd contact, the people who would have really missed Sherlock while he was gone.

“Sherly.” Mycroft’s smile could almost be called huge, for him at least.

“Mycroft. Thanks for the party.”

His brother frowns at that uncharacteristic cheery response and turns to the others. “John, good to see you as always. Miss Hooper.”

His gaze darts down to her stomach, the roundness clearly showing under her silver party dress. She’s used to it by now of course, but Sherlock notices and smirks.

“Are you going to congratulate her?”

“Certainly. You look splendid, my dear.”

“It’s your niece.”

Molly never thought she would ever see Mycroft Holmes genuinely speechless. He stared at his brother as if he’d just announced he had a second head growing out of his chest.

“What?”

“Well, Molly is carrying my daughter, which makes her your niece. I don’t see what’s so hard about that, Mycroft.” He tutted, wandering off to say hello to a weepy-looking Lestrade.

Mycroft just continued to stare, looking up at John as if hoping he would clarify the situation. The doctor sighed.

“He’s telling the truth. He and Molly apparently had a small encounter that took an unexpected turn.”

Molly wanted to blush until she exploded but John’s arm rested on the small of her back reassuringly. Mycroft’s face rearranged itself slowly, as if taking on a new wave of problems.

“Well I of course apologise for any inconvenience Sherlock has shown you. We’ll be only too happy to provide for both of you-”

“It’s okay, Mycroft. Sherlock wants to be involved.”

If anything that only surprised him more, but the look he gave her stomach was almost hopeful. Molly quickly cleared her throat.

“And of course I want you to know her.”

“Really?”

“Sure. You’re her uncle.”

Mycroft Holmes, the most powerful man in the British Government, gave her a smile so grateful and loving it almost knocked the wind out of her, and Molly wondered again what she was getting into.

 

Molly found herself sitting at a table while everyone circulated around her, but John and Sherlock and even Mycroft were all careful to stop by and chat to her every few minutes. She didn’t mind, since her back was killing her anyway. Lestrade ambled over and sat.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. I had no idea about...this.” he waved at her stomach.

“Well I couldn’t keep working once I found out. They put me on extended maternity leave.”

“I think it’s great.”

“Thanks.”

He looked uncertain for a second before pushing on. “And the father, anyone I know?”

“I should think so.” Sherlock cut in, handing her a glass of juice while he sipped his own champagne.

“Who is it?” Greg looked up at the detective, possibly tiptoeing around the same thought John had first had.

“Your worst nightmare.”

“Oh god,” Lestrade straightened, “You don’t mean-”

“Me.”

“What?” he laughed sceptically, “You’re having me on.”

“No, I assure you, Molly and I procreated. Or I should say, we are in the process of doing so.”

“You’re having his baby?” Lestrade shot her a look like she might be crazy.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Where’s my congratulations, hey?”

“Uh, good on ya mate. I’m happy for you both. So are you...a couple then?”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” Sherlock scoffed.

“Right.”

The detective breezed off to talk to someone else and Lestrade gave her a sympathetic look.

“I don’t mind him. He’s Sherlock. I didn’t expect him to fall head over heels because of one night.”

“I guess. Well I’m here, if you ever need someone to talk to.”

She looked over at Sherlock and sighed. “Well since I think Sherlock’s telling anyone who’ll listen it’s his, I might need to take you up on that some time.”

*****

From that day she pretty much moved into 221B. Sherlock still took cases but he spent the majority of his time playing violin to her stomach or talking through the baby books or making lists of names. Molly felt a very real sense of relief, unaware until then how much she needed someone to share it with and shocked at how well he’s coping. John flitted about like a helpful hummingbird, cutting Sherlock off when he went into too much detail about childbirth and curtailing some of the wilder plans for their still unborn child’s future education. He rubbed her feet and cooked her meals and was generally every bit as eager to help as Sherlock.

Mycroft came over to discuss the financial details. Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom, unconcerned, while Molly gaped at the paperwork. She knew Sherlock came from money but this was unthinkable.

“This is too much.” She shook her head.

“Miss Hooper, please-”

“Molly.”

“Molly, please. Neither my brother nor I are ever likely to have any children besides this one. We do not need the money. It should be spent on something worthwhile.”

She looks away humbled, and signs the agreement.

 

Sherlock met her mother, which went much better than expected, mostly because John was there to remind him to behave. When they left her mother frowned.

“They’re an odd couple.”

“They’re not gay, Mum.”

“Are you sure?”

Molly pointed at her stomach. “Pretty sure.”

"Well is he at least going to make an honest woman out of you?"

"Mum, we don't do things like that anymore."

"Hmmph. Ridiculous new-fangled way of doing things, if you ask me."

 

Molly threw down her pregnancy magazine in disgust, getting up to pee for the third time in an hour. She doesn’t walk so much as waddle her way to the bathroom. When she comes out, Sherlock is back from the supermarket with two bags of shopping and a big pink stuffed bear.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, uh, I thought, I don’t know, isn’t that the sort of thing you buy babies? I thought she might like it.”

Molly smiled at the bashful look on his face. “It’s cute.”

She took a step closer and rested her hand over his on the back of the chair.

“You’re going to be great at this, Sherlock. You’re doing really well already.”

“Thank you.” He looked away.

Molly felt infinitely happy in that moment, in the little reclaimed kitchen of 221B. So of course it’s when everything goes to shit.

*****

She walked through the baby section of Marks & Spencer, idly looking through tiny pink dresses and telling herself they don’t need any more. Sherlock and John were out on a case but they’d promised to be back in time for dinner and she hoped John would cook. He was good when he made the effort. Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she half-turned, stiffening.

“Hello Molly. Did I miss something?”

He didn't look like Jim. His hair was a little longer, a deep rusty red.  His mouth was smaller and his nose sharper, cheeks more defined. Plastic surgery, obviously – everyone in the world knew his face after that trial – but he sounded just like him. He was wearing the same sort of suit and an all too familiar gleam in his eyes.

“Do I know you?” she tried, desperately hoping it’s a mistake.

“Oh come now, I know I’ve changed, but did you really forget me so quickly? Though I guess you’ve had other things to think about.”

Her hand covered her stomach protectively. “What are you doing here?”

“Complete coincidence, love. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve been steadily rebuilding everything Sherly tore down in preparation for getting my revenge on him – and you, you saucy trickster – but this meeting is pure chance.”

“Lucky me.” she laughed out nervously.

“So tell me, when did this happen? I don’t see a ring.”

“It was a one-night thing.” She shrugged it off, panic rising at how close he was. He could kill her before anyone knew she was in trouble, but it wasn’t her she was worried about.

“Brave of you to go it alone.” He drawled like he didn’t really believe her.

“Lots of women do it.”

“Hmm. Well it doesn’t change anything my dear. I’m still going to cut you into little pieces. Maybe this one too.”

He reached out a hand to touch her stomach and she skittered backwards. Moriarty laughed.

“See you around, Molly.”

He drifted off back through the rows as casual as anything, leaving her hyperventilating against a stand of booties. As soon as she could breathe again, Molly trotted towards the exit, pulling out her phone.

“Molly?”

“Sherlock – Sherlock, oh god-”

“What is it?” he snaps, voice full of concern.

“I saw him, I saw Moriarty, he’s alive.”

“Where are you now?”

“Getting a cab to Lestrade’s office.” It was the only place she could think of that might be safe from Jim until Sherlock was back by her side.

“Good. I’ll meet you there. I need to call Mycroft. Are you going to be okay?”

She bit back a sob. “I-yes. Yes I’m okay.”

“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, alright? Stay calm, Molly.”

But as she blundered her way into Scotland Yard, she felt anything but.

 

Sherlock and John found her there, curled up in Greg’s office sipping a warm tea. The detective immediately crouched beside her, checking her pupils and pulse.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, he didn’t hurt me.”

“And the baby?”

“A bit overexcited but she’s fine.”

“You’re sure it was him?” he almost begged, wanting her to say no.

“Yes.”

Lestrade looks up. “She gave me a description, I’m running it. We’re trying to figure out how he could have gotten out of the hospital unseen.”

“He wouldn’t have. Probably had a plastic surgeon under his thumb. He would have walked straight into the theatre and come out with a new face while we all thought he was dead.”

“He’s sort of blown his element of surprise now.” John frowned.

“Oh Sherlock, he said he was going to get revenge on you, on me – he threatened the baby-”

“Sshh. Hush. He won’t get within a hundred feet of either of you.”

He wrapped her in his arms and held her as she cried, John standing behind them with heavy stress lines stamped into his brow.

 

Sherlock took her back to Baker Street. He surrounded the flat with his homeless network and consented to let Mycroft’s people set up a security team in 221C, though he insisted on personally vetting them all first. John took an extended leave from the clinic and walked around the flat with his gun in his pants making her tea and soup, and Molly sat on the couch and tried to stay as calm as possible while Sherlock went back to what he did best – hunting Moriarty.

It was about a week after the incident that her phone rang. She’d sort of managed to forget about it the last few days, so she answered without thinking.

“Hello?”

“Molly! You’ll never guess what I found out.”

She sat bolt upright. “Jim?”

“I was doing some digging about that rather interesting creature in your uterus, and guess what I found?”

“No.” She whispered.

“Papers set up to ensure a constant stream of money from the Holmes boys' family trust to one ‘Baby Holmes, care of Molly Hooper’. Tut tut Miss Molly, you neglected to tell me something.”

She was biting back sobs now, fingers shaking as she held the phone. Sherlock walked in with a piece of toast between his teeth and dropped it as soon as he saw her, rushing over. “John!”

“If I’d known I would have just snatched you up at the shops.”

She thrust the phone at him as John hurried in.

“Moriarty?”

“Ah, Daddy Sherlock! _Mazel tov_ , by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, it’s lucky I found out the child’s yours. Imagine if I’d just slaughtered it with the rest of you! What an opportunity to waste.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“Why, a little girl of my own, Sherly. A little piece of you to raise in my image.”

The plastic case strained under his fingers as Sherlock tensed, jaw clenched tight.

“If you lay one finger on my daughter, I will make you wish you’d died on that rooftop.”

“This is so touching, Sherly. Not at all what I saw in your future but I guess sometimes the best plans just sort of _fall_ together.”

He hung up and Sherlock stood there for a moment, waiting for something. When he snapped out of it he threw the phone on the desk and turned to Molly shaking in John’s loose embrace.

“I’m not going to let him hurt anyone else, Molly.”

“How? How can we beat him? There’s no place in the world we’ll be safe.”

“Because this time I’m going to kill him myself.”

*****

Molly sat with her hands folded over her ever-ripening bulge, glancing nervously at Mycroft. He sat at his table with an almost serene face, a gun clasped in one hand like he was used to holding it.

“Don’t worry, Molly. Sherlock and Dr Watson will be fine. My top men are with them.”

She hunched her shoulders against the draught and looked up at the strange animal sculptures by the window. “I hope so.”

“Have you picked a name yet?”

“Not really. Sherlock likes Clara.”

“Yes, I suppose he would. What do you prefer?”

She shrugged. “Annabelle.”

“That’s nice.”

They sat in silence for a while longer. It was late and Molly knew she should try to rest, but she was too worried to even think about it. Mycroft seemed inexhaustible, as calm as ever. When his phone rang it shattered the quiet.

“Holmes. Yes I see. Alright. I’ll tell her.”

“Was that Sherlock? What did he say?”

“He says Moriarty wasn’t there.”

She didn’t know if she should feel more or less concerned about that.

“I’m just going to have a quick word with Anthea in the anteroom. I’ll be less than a moment.”

He let himself out and left her in that dark, imperial study. Molly let out a great sigh and leaned back in the chair. She closed her eyes for a second, just a second.

“Don’t speak.”

It was hissed low in her ear. She jumped, eyes opening but cool arms were already wrapping around her shoulders and chest.

“Stand, slowly.”

“Why are you doing this?” she whimpered.

“Molly, I told you not to speak,” Jim clucked his tongue, “You’re going to come with me quickly and quietly.”

“Where?” she couldn’t resist.

“Somewhere you can have the baby in peace.”

“And then what, kill me? Take my daughter as your own like some kind of pet!”

He slid a knife from his left sleeve and rested it against her belly. “Or I could kill you both now, if you’d prefer.”

There was a shot and Molly screamed, Jim’s arms falling away as he hit the floor. She spun as Mycroft stepped closer to the fallen criminal and fired again, the blood splattering over his rug. When he seemed content Jim was really dead this time he put the gun on the sideboard and hugged her.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. How did he get in here?”

“There are back passages and secret doors aplenty in this building, my dear. I must have overlooked one. I’m so sorry.”

She looked down at Jim’s big blank eyes and shuddered. “Don’t be.”

“I’ll call Sherlock. He’ll take you home.”

He let go and reached into his jacket when a sudden wave of pain hit her. Molly crumpled over, groaning.

“Molly? Molly!”

“The baby...”

“It’s too early; you’re only thirty-five weeks.”

“Oh GOD oh I think my water just bro-oke.”

“Ah,” Mycroft looked mildly panicked, which was sort of funny after the cool way he’d just killed a man, “I will get you a car.”

 

Mycroft stayed by her side through the police escort to the hospital and getting her settled in a labour suite, but the second Sherlock ran in he bolted. _Guess it’s not really his thing_. The detective looked elated, eyes bright in the harsh fluorescent lighting. He stripped off his coat and gloves and took her hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Mycroft sh-shot Moriarty.” She wheezed out around a contraction.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t get to do it.”

“He w-w-was great.”

Sherlock smoothed the sweaty curls back off her forehead and smiled. “She’s coming Molly. Are you ready?”

“Not really.” she laughed.

“Uh oh.” He chuckled.

“We can do this, right? We can get through it.”

“It’s a bit late now if we can’t.”

That didn’t seem to reassure her. Sherlock leaned forward and kissed her brow.

“We can do this, Molly Hooper. And it’s going to be amazing.”

 

Sherlock stomped into the waiting room grumpily.

“What are you doing out here?” John asked, looking up from his paper as Mycroft put down his phone.

“The nurses informed me that if I couldn’t stop interfering with their work, I had to leave.”

“What about Molly?”

“She seemed alright with it; she was yelling that she hated me at the time.”

“Ah. Want me to...”

“Would you?”

“Sure.”

John headed in to keep an eye on things while Sherlock flopped into the chair beside his brother.

“Look at us, Sherly. Did you ever think we’d be here?”

“Never.”

“I am proud of you.”

“For impregnating a friend on the night I faked my own death?” he raised a brow sarcastically.

“For making an effort.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock looked away, chastised, “Thank you for protecting them.”

“My pleasure.”

“He’s definitely dead this time?”

“I checked.”

They sat out there for hours, the two Holmes in a companionable silence. Sherlock’s foot tapped impatiently sometimes, his arms crossed tight. Mycroft rested a hand on his knee supportively. Finally John stuck his head out.

“Sherlock, it’s time.”

The detective raced back in, hurriedly throwing on the green gown and cap they handed him. Molly was writhing on the bed in more agony than he’d possibly seen anyone, clutching at the rails as she pushed. The midwife shot him a dirty look as he stood by her head, taking a hand.

“Molly, just a little longer. We’re almost there.”

She yelled, clamping down on his fingers with more strength than he’d thought her capable of. The midwife checked again.

“Come on dear, head’s almost out.”

Sherlock stroked her brow. “Another good push, Molly. Come on.”

“Sherlock, Sherlock, I...I...”

“I know. Deep breath.”

He took it with her as she strained again, crying as she held onto him.

“I can’t do this!”

“Yes you can. You helped me fall off a four storey hospital without dying to trick a mass-murdering psychopath. You can do anything.”

“Are you sure?” she giggled wetly, red in the face.

“Positive.”

*****

Sherlock declined John’s offer to come with when he took Molly and the baby home. There were some things it felt like he had to do himself, without his flatmate or his brother or Lestrade there as an emotional bridge over any awkward gaps. He knocked on the door of her room and poked his head in.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep, bags packed. Would you bring Abi?”

The consultant craned over the plastic bassinet, cooing at his daughter with her thick mass of brown hair and blue, blue eyes. She was perfect.

“Come on Abigail. Time to go home.”

He cradled the sleepy infant to his chest, checking they had everything. Molly shouldered her bag and smiled tiredly.

“I’ll be glad to get out of here. It’s impossible to sleep with all the other babies crying.”

“Well just you wait. I’ve got the perfect peaceful set-up for both of you.”

Sherlock drove a car he’d borrowed from Mycroft’s fleet, taking them not towards Baker Street like she’d expected but to a block not far away.

“What are we doing here?”

“Well, I thought since it’s not very fair to expect us all to fit in 221B, I bought this place.”

He nodded up at a neat little townhouse as he parked at the kerb. Molly gaped.

“You bought us a house?”

“Of course. I figured I’ll stay here for a year or so to give you a hand, and then if you want some more privacy I’ll move back to the flat with John, but I wanted it close enough to visit.”

“You want to live with us?”

“Well, yes. I want to help, Molly. I told you I would be here for you and Abigail. Of course if you ever get sick of me I can go out for a few days, give you some space. I don’t want to impede on your social life.”

“I think this little lady will do that fine on her own. I just never thought you’d want to live with me when you had John.”

“He understands. He’ll be glad of the break, I’m sure. Shall we go in?”

She nodded excitedly, getting out to unbuckle Abi. Sherlock unlocked the door and dropped her bags in the front hall, taking her from room to room to show it off. It had been neatly furnished, probably not by Sherlock but by someone who knew his tastes. There was a fully stocked kitchen and a nursery painted the palest purple, tiny ducks stuck on the wall. She rocked the baby gently and smiled.

“It’s wonderful.”

“Well it’s yours now.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

He looked away shyly, fidgeting. “Then don’t say anything. Here, I’ll help you unpack.”

 

Molly woke up around one when Abigail started crying. With a weary sigh she dragged herself out of bed, stuffing her arms into the sleeves of her robe like a zombie. As she passed Sherlock’s new room she found the door open; also the crying had stopped. She crept up to the nursery softly, pushing the door open a little. Sherlock was sitting in the rocking chair, reading to Abigail as he jiggled her gently. She was twitching her fingers and puffing out her fat cheeks, his low melodious voice rolling over the words. Molly didn’t want to break the moment, so she stayed where she was and listened. It took her a few moments to realise what the book was.

“Sherlock, are you reading to our daughter in French?”

He looked up almost guiltily. “It’s what Voltaire writes in.”

Molly shook her head. “I think Voltaire’s a little heavy for her.”

“She seems to like it.” He reasoned.

“I suppose it could be worse.”

He smirked and kept reading. She knew she should go back to bed but the sight of the great Sherlock Holmes rocking Abigail to sleep was too precious to waste. She pushed the door all the way open and crossed to them, kissing his curly head.

“Thank you, Sherlock. For everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> The baby name meanings are:  
> Clara - bright, famous (because that's what matters to Sherlock)  
> Annabelle - lovable (because that's what matters to Molly)  
> Abigail - father's joy (cos that's what she is!)


End file.
